


Hell and You

by MilesUpshur



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Amnesia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Guilt, Hiraeth is a big theme, Homesickness for a place unknown, Identity Issues, Independent New Vegas (Fallout), M/M, Mojave Wasteland (Fallout), Revenge, Trans Male Courier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-10-13 15:44:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20584991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilesUpshur/pseuds/MilesUpshur
Summary: Courier Six finally gets his revenge, but it's not all it's chalked up to be. Arcade is left to heal the broken mind of a lost man.





	1. Not So Sweet Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> About damn time I write about Courier Six and Arcade Gannon.  
I have some other shit about my Courier, including a playlist I'm still working on:  
https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLSWnrXaJy4hZzS_JVl2G8-dpR0ZOiiAQB  
I also post occasional Fallout: New Vegas art on my Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/milesupshurrr

In all his years, Arcade had never met a man like Courier Six. The man could talk about anything and manage to make it interesting, and he could convince the most stubborn of people to follow him into a losing battle. He was charismatic as all hell, with the looks and brains to go with it.

All Arcade had come to know about the Courier could have never prepared him for the scene he saw in the arena at The Fort. This man, who had always tried to be kind and fair, had suddenly seemed like a man possessed with that machete in hand. The only thing Arcade could do was watch as Courier swung the blade down in a high arc at Benny, hacking at limbs, blood staining his clothes and hands. Even death wouldn't be an escape, the courier hacking through bone with a sickening crunch as his chest heaved. It took Arcade's shouting to rip Courier's attention away from the pile of blood and viscera he had managed to make of Benny.

Courier hadn't said a word since they left the Fort, his navy blue bomber jacket drenched in the blood of the man who had put him in an early grave. The boat ride to Cottonwood Cove was long and silent, and when they disembarked Arcade had meekly suggested that the Courier should wash off in the river. There was no response from the Courier and no sign that he had heard the words, he just silently started on their long trek back to the Lucky 38.

They walked almost nonstop, only taking breaks for Arcade to sleep or eat, the Courier silent all the while. He hadn't touched any food, and it seemed like he hadn't slept a wink. The doctor had tried to talk to him, to get the man who was once full of words to say a single thing, but he was just met with silence.

* * *

Arcade joked about the presidential suite being a tomb, but that's what it felt like when they finally returned to the empty floor. The Courier silently slunk off to the bathroom to wash away the blood and dirt clinging to him, which left Arcade to wallow in his own doubts. He wonders if this was the man Courier has been all along, and he had just hid it well. Or, maybe the man finally just snapped, everything that was weighing on his mind finally crushing him.

Then Arcade hears it; through the old battered wall between the guest bedroom and the bathroom, he hears the Courier's sobbing. This didn't feel right. The entire image he had of the Courier - strong, kind, talkative, resilient - it all seems to be crumbling. Maybe Arcade couldn't blame the Courier, after all, he was just a man. With everything New Vegas expected from this mysterious "hero", all the pressure, he was sure to cave in at some point.

The doctor didn't know how long the Courier stayed in that bathroom, or how long he cried, but there was a weight lifted when the sniffling stopped and the bathroom door opened. For a while, he just sat and listened to the soft footsteps as they made their way to the master bedroom. A few minutes pass with nothing but silence before Arcade finally stands and walks to the Courier's room.

The bedroom door is open, and Arcade can see Courier inside, sitting on the bed and cleaning his weapons. Arcade stands in the door frame, watching the Courier work for a while before he speaks.

"What happened back there?"

The Courier pauses in his work before setting down what he had in his hands, without looking toward the doctor.

The voice that comes from Courier sounds alien. It's frail and shaky, nothing like the confidence he normally exudes. "I don't… I don't know why, but I thought that if I killed him - got my revenge… I thought everything would be alright. That, somehow, I'd get back that life that he took from me. And then, he was dead, and nothing changed. He stole everything from me and all I got from him was a nasty scar and a gaudy gun."

Arcade was silent as he made his way to the bed and sat down next to the Courier. He knew that the Courier needed someone there for him right now. A friend to listen, to be near.

"I know it sounds stupid," Courier sighed, "but I wanted a name. If nothing else, I just wanted to remember my name."

"Everyone wants to know who they are, there's nothing wrong about wanting that," Arcade spoke softly, afraid that his words may break the Courier. "Maybe one day we'll find you a name, one that you like, that you'll be proud of."

A comfortable silence fell between the two men, something different than the cold sharp silence they had shared while traveling. They just sat there enjoying each other's company, each of them worried that if they spoke or moved they may break this calm.

After a few minutes, Courier broke the silence with a voice Arcade could barely hear. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that you saw that, I should have went on my own."

Arcade felt a pang of guilt in his chest. What happened at the Fort had shocked him, yes, but they were the actions of a hurt man. It was the Courier's way of having revenge - making peace.

"He tried to kill you, I think you were justified in a bit of overkill," Arcade joked, trying to lighten the mood.

The Courier gave an uneasy smile, his eyes remaining sad as he turned to look at Arcade for the first time since the Fort, "You always know how to make me feel better, Doc."

Even after brutally dismembering a man, the Courier was as charming as ever, with his dark green eyes and his bronze skin. He was handsome, and before all of this Arcade had thought that he was more fit for the New Vegas Strip than he was for the Mojave. But, despite all his charms and looks, the Strip life didn't seem to suit Courier. The man liked to travel, never staying in the same place for long. He enjoyed the wide open space and the wasteland flora, the red stained cliffs and the hike up to Jacobstown.

But now, the once confident Courier's voice is tinged with uncertainty, maybe even fear. "I just don't know what I'll do. When this is all over, where will I go?" Silence. Arcade didn't know what to say, he had just assumed that the Courier would continue helping people, but even a superhero couldn't keep that up forever.

And then, Courier said the thing that nearly broke the doctor's heart. "Do you think that somewhere out there, there's someone who loves me? Someone just… waiting for me to come back and hold them like the world is gonna end? Would they even recognize me, am I even the same person?"

"I'd be surprised if there wasn't someone," Arcade couldn't lie, Courier turned heads wherever he went. "Six, you're a good man, and you can do some amazing things, but there's nothing you can do about a life you've forgotten."

Arcade knew what it was like to be alone in the world, but he'd never know what it was like to lose something you didn't know you had. There had to be someone out there, patiently waiting for the Courier to walk through the creaky door of an old farmhouse, carrying the dust and sand of the Mojave with him. Just the thought made Arcade's heart ache.

Courier let out a small chuckle, "You're right, I know you are, but sometimes… Sometimes I feel like there's a memory, just beyond reach. It's foggy like a dream but it feels… familiar. And the more I try to focus on it, the less it makes sense."


	2. O, My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trek to Jacobstown always brings out the best in Courier Six. Courier drags Arcade off to Mount Charleston for a break from New Vegas, but god be damned if Arcade could take a hint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter and hope everyone likes it as much as I do! Chapter three will probably be Courier centric so I hope y'all want to know more about my little bastard.

Arcade didn't ask questions when he was asked to follow along on a trip to Jacobstown, he had just figured that Courier was taking Rex for a check up. Only when they walked straight through Freeside did he begin to get curious.

The traveling was pleasant enough, the radio of Courier's Pip-Boy filling their first long day of walking with quiet music. Mojave Radio didn't offer the widest variety of music, but Arcade preferred the sound of the Courier humming rather than remaining silent. At night, though, when camp was made and the radio was switched off - that was when Arcade wondered what this adventure to Jacobstown was all about. Some nights - when they were out traveling and the Courier thought the doctor was asleep - Arcade would watch him lay on the rough desert ground under the open sky, the stars reflected in his green eyes. Tonight was one of those nights.

If Arcade was sneaky, and he had the willpower to stay awake, he could watch Courier's fingers trace over the long scar that ran across the left side of his head. Arcade knew that Courier saw the scar as unsightly, but he couldn't help but think it just added character. The scar could have been much worse; Courier was lucky to not only survive a bullet, but to get a competent, steady-handed doctor. Even Arcade wouldn't have been able to pull it off, a nice thin scar with a slight arch, resting right between where the shaved black hair meets the slicked back strands that rest on top of Courier's head. And, on days the Courier didn't want to remember, a well placed hat hid the reminder.

* * *

Courier was never one to speak of the past, but the less he talked about Benny, the more it worried Arcade. At first Arcade didn't think twice about Courier toting a dead man's gun, after all, it was common for him to loot bodies and find a new favorite weapon. But this felt different; it felt wrong, like that gun should have been forgotten, locked up in a box and buried six feet down. Yet there it was, glinting in the rays of the setting sun, right at the Courier's hip.

They were close to Jacobstown now, the snow capped peaks of Mount Charleston near gone from the late summer heat. Courier made camp for the evening off of the old road, amidst a clearing in the woods and overlooking the wide expanse of the Mojave. The sun set behind them, turning the sky a gentle orange and pink, and the far off lights of the New Vegas strip had begun shining brightly against the darkening sky.

Arcade prepared a meal of Instamash and gecko steaks over a small fire as Courier stood for a time, lighting a cigarette and watching the sky turn dark and the stars blink into view.

"If the wasteland doesn't kill you, those sure will," Arcade's words made the Courier turn to face him. "I thought you had quit."

Courier gave a chuckle before flicking the half finished cigarette into the fire. "All the dumb shit that you watch me do, but you still won't let me have a damn smoke." He sat facing Arcade, setting to work on taking off his heavy armor

"There's a difference between charging into battle heroically and just being plain stupid. I prefer men who dance with death, not ones who treat it like a childhood friend. You walk a fine line, Six."

"You act like you don't like that about me, Doctor Gannon," the Courier had paused in his work, glancing up to smirk at Arcade. "I'm sad to say, but I think it's gonna take more than a pretty face and a few sweet words to take the Mojave out of me."

With that, they ate with few more words spoken, the Pip-Boy radio filling the silence with soft melodies. The fire was just embers when the two men climbed into their bedrolls, leaving only the faint flickers and the green glow of the Pip-Boy to help navigate.

Arcade doesn't expect anything to come from this, but every time the Courier returned his flirtations, there was that much more hope. He had known a lot of casual flattery over the years, and he'd seen his fair share of men who just enjoyed working others up, this seemed no different. Courier was a genuine smooth talker, someone who would fit better in the casino business than in his current profession, and Arcade had to admit - albeit shamefully - that the charms had worked on him. He lay in his sleeping bag for what felt like hours, just staring at the dark outlines of trees and rocks, unable to sleep.

He was snapped out of his trance when Courier shuffled in his bedroll, silently standing and moving to lay on a patch of moss and grass on the forest floor. Arcade watched for a time, seeing the faint outline of the Courier's chest rising and falling, and the shadows of leaves in the moonlight dancing across his face. These were the only times when Courier seemed like he was really at peace, the trees towering above him and the grass cool on his back.

Arcade let a few minutes pass before he crawled from his bed roll and joined the Courier on the forest floor. They traveled together a lot, but it was rare for them to share a moment like this.

The whisper that came from Courier was nearly carried off by the night breeze. "Couldn't sleep either, huh, Doc?"

"Nothing new there," Arcade smiled in the darkness. The two of them shared quite a few bad habits from their time traveling together, and staying awake late into the night was occasionally one of them.

Courier sat up, fiddling with the Pip-Boy that sat on the ground beside him. The soft melody of In The Shadow Of The Valley began humming away in the night air. A sigh came from the Courier as he sat there, the green glow of the Pip-Boy illuminating his face. "This mountain range, the trees… There's no other place like it for miles."

Arcade gave a hum in response, listening to the music, silently enjoying the late night company. The radio droned on for a while, uninterrupted.

"What are we, Doc?" The Courier was looking at the doctor now, and his green eyes felt like they were threatening to bore a hole through his very being.

"Some charming bastard from god knows where who's in over his head, and a starstruck researcher who will follow him anywhere for a bit of flattery," Arcade offered with a small laugh.

He heard Courier let out a short chuckle, and he felt calloused fingertips run gently down his forearm. Arcade nearly missed it, almost thought it was a soft breeze brushing against him - his imagination. "I'll play the part of the starstruck researcher; smart enough to be a doctor, but just dumb enough to miss every invitation to intimacy."

In the faint green glow of the Pip-Boy, Arcade saw a Courier he'd never seen in all of their months together: There was a softness there, a rare unguarded moment that seemed out of place in a walker of the Mojave. Courier was the cactus, rough around the edges and intimidating, and moments like these were when he was in bloom.

"I never took you for much of an actor, Six," Arcade joked, despite his heart racing in his chest.

"Stop being a sarcastic shithead and kiss me already."

It seemed like Courier finally knew exactly what to say to get Arcade to shut the fuck up.


	3. Amongst Thorns And Weeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courier is more lost than ever, and he wants to go back to the life he knew -- wandering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I know it took a while but this chapter was a little hard on me. A lot of the dissociation and homesickness themes are from personal experience and were a bit tough for me to put into words. I also edited the format of this chapter as well as past ones, adding indentation to make reading easier on the eyes!  
Anyway, I hope you enjoy some of the information of how Courier and Arcade met, as well as some insight into my Courier's character. Basically, a botanist and a doctor walk into a bar.  
Next chapter you're getting post-DLC Courier so get ready for That.

Mornings were the most difficult time of the day for Courier Six, he always got little sleep and awoke to his head pounding. He was lucky if he had a morning where he had any idea of who he was, his mind gripped with panic and confusion. Normally Six would wake before the sun rose, dazed and out of place as he stumbled from his bed roll.

Some mornings he had faint glimpses of memories, but they were racing and hard to interpret, and they always felt like the remnants of a fever dream. But mostly, he would wake up in the morning and nothing made sense. Existence itself seemed unfamiliar on days like these, like he had spontaneously come into being in a world and body completely foreign. It was like waking up after a night of heavy liquor - and instead of forgetting last night, he forgot everything.

The early mornings usually gave him plenty of time to pull himself together before Arcade crawled out of bed, but this morning he had slept in. Courier woke to the glare of the rising sun, the hard ground beneath him. There was a harsh silence in his mind - a nothingness - and it filled him with dread.

He could hear the crackling of a slow song on a radio somewhere, and a sizzling accompanied by the smell of smoke and cooking meat. Courier dragged himself from his threadbare bed roll, his body heavy and sluggish. It felt like he wasn't inside, like he was watching his body - this stranger - from the outside.

* * *

_ The first thing that he remembered was that night at the Goodsprings Cemetery. By all accounts his life had ended there, the body still remaining was just a husk - a machine that stalked the Mojave in search of its purpose. Courier didn't know how long he had wandered aimlessly like that, his single-minded pursuit of revenge his only motivation to continue on. Maybe it was a month, maybe more - but he knew that he would kill Benny, that was all he could do: He had to get back what was taken from him. _

_ It could have been all of the suffering he saw - all of the greed - that changed him from an unfeeling man into one of compassion. He couldn't tell you when it happened, but he had quickly become a hero of the people, finding himself solving the problems of people he would never see again. Despite this newfound meaning, he would still find himself thinking of Benny when he was alone. No matter how much of a life he would build for himself, it paled in comparison to the life that he had lost. _

_ Word of the Courier's good deeds had beaten him to New Vegas, and it had started to feel like everyone in the Mojave knew more about him than himself. He would hear whispers of that "Courier Six", the smooth talking mysterious hero - everything a gal desires and all a guy wanted to be. Somehow, he had become a sort of legend, something people saw as hope in a dark time. Little did they know that the great Courier was but a man, and one barely held together at that. _

_ After months, Courier finally managed to convince himself into confronting Benny. For once, Six couldn't let himself be level-headed: The only thing that mattered was revenge, and the Slasher running through his veins would make sure that none of his morals would keep him from making Benny suffer. He wanted to charge in there and beat the life out of Benny, barehanded or with the closest blunt object - a mindless beast. He deserved no less. _

_ A blood bath was what he wanted, not caring about getting out alive; and he would have gotten it if he hadn't passed out near the Strip gate, high as a kite. He hadn't taken Slasher often, but he knew this wasn't normal - and with the reputability of the merchants in the Mojave it could have contained God knows what. _

_ Courier was just lucky that a King's member found him and took him to the Old Mormon Fort before some Freeside thugs robbed him blind. The Slasher left him reeling in his cot, the first few hours like a bad fever dream. Faces of doctors that came to check on him melting and blurring, their questions sounding like they were being spoken into pillows. _

_ It took Courier a day to start coming back to his senses, and even then he was mostly out cold thanks to some sort of sedative. The first thing he noticed was the pressure against his wrists and ankles, restraints digging into his skin and leaving him black and blue. Julie told him that he was delirious when he was brought in, kicking and punching out in a blind rage. She said it took a couple doctors and three King's members just to hold him down long enough to give him the sedative, but that was to be expected with Slasher. _

_ Everything felt like a dream for another day or so, but the Slasher had worn off and he had been unrestrained. He mostly spent that time wandering around the Old Mormon Fort, visiting the different tents and chatting with patients, and if he was lucky he could catch a doctor if they weren't too busy. _

_ That was when Courier met him; a man deep in work wearing a Follower's lab coat and thick old world glasses, sitting in a tent tucked away in a disused corner of Old Mormon Fort. There were pots of plants scattered around the tent, the majority of them looking like they were in their last days. _

_ "If you're the resident Botanist these plants are screwed." _

_ The man looked away from his work for only a few seconds to glance at the Courier. "I'd say they're lucky to have survived this long, what with my specialization being treatment of human patients." _

_ Courier six slowly made his way around the room, observing the potted plants, wilted and yellowing. When it came to plants, he always seemed to feel the most connected to some old life he could never fully grasp. His talents with horticulture seemed to have survived, despite his memories of him learning being nonexistent. It was just something he knew, like second nature: Just like how he understood how to speak, walk, and defend himself. _

_ Digging his fingers into the dirt of a pot, he gently pulled up the plant to find soft, brown roots. "You're drowning the poor bastards. They're desert plants, they don't need that much water. What are all these here for, anyways? All of these are abundant in the wasteland." _

_ "I'm researching the medicinal benefits of native plants, and if you can't tell, I don't get the chance to leave this place often. Decided it would be easier to bring live specimens back, but I'm starting to realize I don't have much of a talent for gardening." The doctor had abandoned his work in favor of turning toward the Courier, watching him through thick glasses. _

_ "Well, you're in luck. I don't offer my botanical services often, but I have to admit I have a soft spot for sarcastic scientists. I consider it a bonus that you're easy on the eyes. All you have to do is get a drink with me tonight." The corner of Courier's lip tugged up in a small smirk before he approached the doctor and extended an arm out for a handshake. "Courier Six. And you are?" _

_ Courier could see the recognition of the name wash over the doctor's face almost immediately, and it left a knot in his stomach. He didn't like being recognized, being unable to go somewhere and just blend into the crowd. _

_ "Arcade Gannon," the doctor said, ignoring the offer of a handshake and instead grinning. "You're quite the charmer: You come to the Followers all fucked up on Slasher, give a couple doctors some nasty bruises, then try to sweep the lone researcher off his feet with promises of plant facts. And here I thought I was too old to fall for all this excitement." _

_ Courier gave a slight chuckle before turning to the exit. "Well, I'll be at the Wrangler at nine tonight, Doctor Gannon." _

* * *

The Courier had hoped this trip to Jacobstown would relax his nerves - make it easier to talk to Arcade about him traveling away from the Mojave to find himself. He thought that one last trip together would make the parting easier, but he was miserable just thinking about going back to the life of wandering the plains alone, even if it was only for a while. Six had been hoping that Arcade would try to talk sense into him, tell him what a stupid idea it was to wander miles of wasteland and hope to find a single grain of sand. But when Arcade encouraged his fruitless search for his history, he knew he had to go forward with it.

Six didn't know what he was hoping to find out there, and for all he knew the world outside the Mojave could hold horrors deadlier than Deathclaws and people shittier than Caesar. Maybe he was desperate and wanted to find something of who he used to be before he died fighting someone else's war. Or perhaps he wanted something he could tell the people that made him feel more like a person and less like a story.

What he did know for certain was that no matter what he found, he would come back to Vegas and finish what he started.


End file.
